Hurt
by Hushbye Hayley
Summary: Matt loved Mello. But Mello would never, ever know. Onesided MxM oneshot, written for Matt and Mello's death day yesterday.


**MxM onesided one-shot. This was written for Matt and Mello's death day, but I forgot to put it on yesterday.**

**Disclaimer: Death Note and the characters do not belong to me. If they did this fic would not be needed. **

Matt loved Mello. He loved him in all the ways he could think of: as a friend, in an almost brotherly way, and, of course, the love love way. But Mello would never, ever know about that last one; Matt was happy with their friendship and didn't want to break it by forcing his selfish and unneeded feelings on Mello.

Besides, Mello was always going on about this girl, or that girl, or who said this or this one was cute. It hurt, but Matt put up with it. Because he loved Mello.  
Matt thought he'd like to be a girl, if it meant that Mello would take notice of him. He'd make a very good girl. Or not.  
But whether it was hearing Mello go on and on about everyone but him, or the fact that he was breaking his own heart every day just looking at his blond friend, Matt was hurting.  
Mello was everything he wasn't: strong, impulsive, wild, competitive, harsh and, at times, brutal.  
But at others, so soft. So quiet. So... so sad. Mello was sad when there was no one else around but Matt. He dropped the tough act, he dropped the violent attacks on Near (verbally, at least) and just... sat there. Or he played video games with Matt. Or he read a book. Or he'd've had a bad day, and he wouldn't drop the act, and he would sit there,a pile of seemingly never-ending books in front of him, like a wall between him and Matt. Sometimes, Matt would break the wall. Sometimes not. Many days, studying came first.  
And, if Matt was honest, that hurt far, far more than any crush Mello could ever have.  
That had been the Wammy days. Those were the quiet, halcyon days which flew by and were dust, before they had even properly started.  
When you spend the first ten years of your life sharing a room and classes with someone, you kinda bond. Which is why Matt knew that, one day, Mello would contact him again. Which is why he wasn't surprised when he received a call from a strangely familiar voice.  
It had broken, but that had been the voice that had yelled at him to get up every morning. That had been the voice that had laughed at him when he had come up and sat behind him, so close his breath tickled his ear, and made him lose his concentration on his video game. That had been the voice he had heard ranting, furious, about the injustice of his whole situation.  
That had been the voice he had heard praying every night when he thought Matt was asleep. The voice that had cried in his nightmares for the first month or so. The voice that had sung 'Happy Birthday' to him nine times, each time slightly more out of tune.  
You never forget a voice like that.  
Never.  
The name wasn't mentioned, only the address. Be Matt had known it was Mello, and he had known that Mello had known it was him.  
Because he had known that Mello would head for the criminal underworld, so he had, too.  
Doing the odd job here and there, making a name for himself as a hacker, so one day, Mello would see his name and know exactly who it was.  
Which is exactly what had happened.  
But Matt had been to late. Or, perhaps, just in time.  
He arrived exactly an hour after the explosion. A couple of hours earlier, and he would have been caught in the attack with Mello. If he'd arrived any earlier, he may have been dead.  
If he'd arrived an hour later, it would be likely that Mello would've been dead.  
He had arrived to discover the address Mello had sent him in ruins. A group of stragglers, four or five men in full body armour dragging something with them. Feeling ill, he realised it was a body.  
They paid no attention to the strange bystander. Matt waited until they were gone, and he started hollering Mello's name at the top of his voice.  
He was assuming Mello was alive.  
Which of course he was. He had to be. Matt needed him, even just the promise of him, the promise that he was alive, to survive.  
Matt often thought about what would have happened if he'd found Mello's dead body on the ground. Before, he would have thought there'd be some kind of realisation that he couldn't live without Mello, and that the only option was death. But then Matt had seen he had been stupid. Of course, he loved Mello. That would never, ever change. But life would go on. He would cry, he would scream, he would curse himself for not coming earlier, and then what? He would move on with his life. He would miss Mello, and always blame himself for not saving him, and always love him, but there would be room in his heart for someone else. He was bi, he wasn't picky. As long as someone showed him some affection, were loyal and actually loved him, he would give them all the devotion they needed.  
So what about Mello had drawn him to Matt?  
He wasn't loving, at least not outwardly, he wasn't particularly loyal, that had been proven when he had run away, leaving his best friend behind, and he most certainly didn't love Matt. He trusted Matt, yes. He wouldn't abandon him again in a hurry. But he didn't love him. Matt didn't think Mello was capable of love. Lust was a different matter altogether. But not love.  
And that hurt. But it was okay.  
Because Mello was alive. So all that didn't apply. So Matt had just wasted twenty minutes having a huge internal monologue that didn't need to happen.  
Because Matt was just winding his heart up and letting it run out. Like a wind up toy. Wind it up, let it go, watch it go, leave it be. Then do it all again.  
The sad thing was that Mello didn't know he was playing with Matt. He had no idea that Matt's feelings were there. He didn't even know Matt was bi.  
Mello, who was so perspective, didn't realise that his best friend of fifteen years was completely and utterly in love with him.  
He often asked why Matt had picked him up, bloody and broken, off the ground, bandaged him up, set him on his feet again and pushed him on. Matt couldn't answer to those questions.  
Those questions hurt like shit.  
Matt didn't mind that Mello would never see his inner feelings. As long as he helped his friend, he honestly didn't care. And anyway, Mello would an awkward lover, stumbling over himself to say anything remotely emotional.  
Matt loved Mello, but that didn't mean he liked the idea of a relationship. Although, if Mello came into the room in his tight leather, and that goddamn sexy smirk on his face, and asked Matt to be his boyfriend, who would Matt be to say no?  
But those were just fantasies. They would stay in his head forever.  
He would love Mello for the rest of his life.  
Unfortunately, that was true.  
The bullets embedded in his chest were killing him, but not as much as the heartache clutching at him with icy claws.  
Because, as he lay dying, his last thoughts were of Mello. Nothing else but the gorgeous, sexy, bright genius.  
Mello had thought his scar had looked ugly, but Matt had thought that saying it looked delicious would be first, a bit strange, and second, a bit of a giveaway. Now Matt wished he had told Mello that he looked beautiful with his scar.  
Mello had told him to stop smoking, that it would be the death of him one day, but now, Matt had a cigarette stuck between his lips. In his last moments, he was smoking himself to death. Smoking kills, kids. It made him wish he had listened to Mello, at least a little bit.  
But now, he was wishing he had told Mello about his feelings. Perhaps in the moment that they were parting ways, Matt could've told him. But Matt had been a coward.  
Matt loved Mello. And Mello hurt far, far more than the bullet wounds that were killing him from the outside, when Mello's face was killing him on the inside.


End file.
